Page 52 of Darkest Oblivion
“Stop!” I gasped, my voice weak, my body trembling with unwanted desire.
“Why would I?” he murmured, kissing my neck again, then the exposed skin of my chest, his lips warm, sending shivers through me.
My thighs clenched, my panties—had I been wearing any—would’ve been soaked, my body betraying my hatred.
His hand slid to my thigh, caressing gently, inching upward, and I grabbed it, my voice desperate.
“No... I don’t want this.”
“You don’t want what?” he asked, his lips still hovering, his eyes dark with obsession, his voice a seductive growl.
I hated how he affected me, how my body craved the monster I despised.
Without warning, he slammed his lips against mine, the kiss hard, consuming, his tongue claiming me.
I kissed back, aggressive, angry, my lips battling his, hating my response.
He tore his mouth from mine, panting, eyes wild, fevered. “You drive me insane, Penelope,” he rasped, voice ragged with want, before crushing his lips back to mine, deeper, hungrier, his hand seizing my waist like he’d never let go.
“I don’t give a damn what you’ve heard about your body,” he growled against my lips, each word hot and desperate. “Every curve is mine to worship—mine to claim.”
Another searing kiss, fierce and consuming, and I melted against him, my lips betraying me, my resolve splintering under the weight of his hunger.
He dragged his mouth away, his voice dropping to a guttural snarl. “Every inch of you is mine to ruin.”
His eyes burned into mine, daring me to deny what my body confessed.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known—because you’re mine.”
He devoured me once more, the kiss desperate, a collision of hate and obsession, then pulled back, chest heaving, his trousers straining with proof of his desire, his body a weapon aimed only at me.
But his face twisted, rage contorting what moments ago had looked like worship. His voice lashed out, venom dripping from every word.
“But I fucking hate you,” he spat, eyes blazing, veins taut in his neck. “I hate you so much I want to shatter you. To strip away every illusion, until you hate your body, your breath, your very existence. Until you beg me for death—and still, I won’t give it.”
My chest caved, my heart splintering.
The same man who had just called me beautiful now vowed to unmake me.
“I don’t deserve this,” I whispered, voice breaking, body still flushed and traitorous from his touch, shame burning low in my belly.
“It’s not hatred,” he growled, turning to the desk, his hands gripping the edge until his knuckles went bone-white. “Hatred ends. This—” his voice cracked, guttural, “—this is worse. This is forever.”
With a roar, he flipped the desk, the crash of glass and steel exploding across marble like a gunshot.
His shoulders heaved, every breath a war between control and madness.
I stood frozen, legs trembling, my gown clinging to my damp skin.
Desire and terror warred inside me. “Can we talk about it?” I asked, my voice fragile, reaching for the ghost of the boy I’d once loved.
He spun on me, eyes bloodshot, fist clenched so tight it looked ready to break bone. “Leave,” he said, voice low and dangerous.
“What?” My heart pounded.
“Go take your stroll, or scream, or whatever the fuck you want,” he snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “Just get out—before I put my hands on you in a way I won’t regret.”
I hesitated, then nodded, my bare feet whispering against the marble as I fled to my wardrobe. My pulse thundered, fear and forbidden desire choking me.
